Self
The handwriting was not hers.
Melancholy
The Truest Thing
The bride and groom won’t be needing it.
Doesn’t Matter
The good kind of quick, if there’s a good kind.
Come
The grain of the wood traced the scar exactly.
Load-bearing
I choose them both.
Fish Tale
You’re asking was it the fish that started the dreams. Sure. The fish.
Perfect Morning
The back door sticks on humid mornings.
Briefly and Completely Mine
I log none of this. That is new.
True Dead
The ping came in the third hour of daywatch.
Filed Under
The lair smelled like solder and bad decisions.
Still Light
The morning started with Donnie eating toast over the sink the way he always did
The Canvas
The rock cut through her gloves at the third handhold.